


A Green Knight in Prince Arthur's Court

by dollsome



Category: Merlin (TV), Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Green Knight proposes a beheading game, all the men in Camelot go bonkers, and it is, at long last, Gwen and Morgana’s turn to save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part the First

**  
_~ * PART THE FIRST * ~_   
**

The knight who interrupts the holiday feast is very big and very green.

“Does no one else find this suspicious?” Morgana demands.

“Apparently not,” says Gwen.

They stare, with varying degrees of pity and exasperation (most of the pity Gwen’s and most of the exasperation Morgana’s), at the boys. The boys – the term ‘boys’ here encapsulating every man in the castle dining hall, from Sir Leon to Merlin to Gaius to the Prince and King of Camelot themselves – are all gazing up at the very green knight and his very big axe with dopey-eyed grins. As such, they don’t notice the staring.

“Who wishes to strike me a blow, and thus prove the lasting glory of much-renownéd Camelot?” the big green knight booms.

Morgana’s mouth falls open in disbelief as the men erupt in a chorus of “Me, me!”s, clamoring for his favor like lovesick young maidens.

“Oh dear,” Gwen murmurs.

“A merry game we shall make of it!” the Green Knight continues. “First you deal me any manner of blow you choose, and within the sennight, I shall return the favor.”

“Tra-ap,” Morgana sing-songs under her breath.

“But suppose,” Uther mutters to Gaius; both of them look quite starry-eyed, “one dealt a fatal blow to the Green Knight?”

“Then I suspect,” Gaius replies, “one would have found a way to win the game, and ensure _true_ glory for Camelot.”

“Oh, goody,” Uther grins.

“Excellent idea, Father,” Arthur says, gazing raptly at the Green Knight, a look of great determination on his face beneath the many levels of rather sappy awe. “I’ll just be borrowing that.”

“Really now, Arthur,” Uther chastises, frowning. “ _I’m_ the one who thought of it. Not to mention that I am the king of Camelot. And as such, I—”

“Milord,” Morgana interjects pointedly, “don’t you think this seems rather … trappish?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know. Traplike. Like a trap.”

Uther’s too busy staring at the Green Knight to even glance her way.

“It’s a _trap_ , milord,” Morgana snaps.

“Eat your potatoes, Morgana,” Uther says distractedly.

“Yeah, Morgana,” Arthur says. “Eat your potatoes.”

Morgana imagines it to be a Pendragon man’s head, and stabs a potato with flourish.

+

In the end, it is, unsurprisingly, Arthur who receives the honor of chopping the knight’s head off. He does quite a good job of it, too: one swift blow, and the knight’s head falls to the floor, the metal of his helmet thundering against the stone. A fountain of emerald blood gushes from his rather abandoned-looking neck; most of it winds up splattering Merlin’s face, which is the way these things tend to go.

The only difference is that this time, Merlin looks positively thrilled.

The inhabitants of the hall look down at the big, green, bodiless head in one moment of perfect, stunned silence.

Then the knight’s body – which hadn’t bothered to fall over – makes one jerking motion that sends all its armor creaking. Then it stands up a bit taller, and walks across the hall to retrieve its severed head. It’s got quite a bit of swagger in its step, too.

A woman screams. Morgana and Gwen both gasp.

The knight’s body picks up its head and tucks it rather affectionately under its right arm.

“Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot,” the head says (rather smirkily), “thou hast one week to find me, so that I might return the blow that was bestowed upon me. If you fail to carry out this task, everlasting shame shall befall Camelot.”

“I _told_ you it was a trap,” Morgana groans to the room at large. The Green Knight’s eyes flick briefly over to her; perhaps it isn’t the wisest of actions to anger large green supernatural beings who don’t have much of a problem with decapitation, but she can’t help it. She glares at him.

It doesn’t matter much, because the room at large ignores her enlightening remark. Instead:

“Everlasting shame,” Uther repeats, aghast.

“God,” Sir Leon says, “how embarrassing.”

“It’s all right, men,” Arthur says in his princeliest of tones. “I’ve got this covered. There’ll be no shame befalling _this_ kingdom.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” says Sir Leon.

“One week, Arthur Pendragon,” the Green Knight intones. “One week, and you will answer to my axe.”

“That,” Arthur says, “sounds damned sporting to me, Green Knight.”

The room erupts in a choir of manly, testosterone-fueled cheers. The Green Knight climbs back onto his big green horse (which has been, to its credit, rather polite and mild-mannered throughout the whole affair), then gallops right on out of the hall. The cheers become quite deafening at his glorious exit.

“You’re my hero, Green Knight!” calls out one particular voice, only just audible over the din.

It sounds a whole lot like Merlin.

“I suppose it’s on us to fix this, then, isn’t it?” Morgana says blandly, taking in the scene.

Gwen glances at Gaius. He is currently in the middle of an enthusiastic reenactment of the decapitation, one starring a dinner knife and a potato. He makes a little “schwinggggg!” noise as the dinner knife ‘axe’ falls down.

“Yes,” Gwen says, resigned. “I think so.”

“Bloody marvelous,” scowls Morgana.

Merlin surreptitiously licks a bit of green blood off his finger. It does much to bring back to Morgana a belief she’d held most ardently at age ten: boys are _disgusting_.

+

Morgana and Gwen follow Arthur and Merlin down the hall on the way back to Arthur’s bedchamber, careful to stay quite a few steps behind.

“I’m coming with you,” Merlin is saying quite forcefully.

Gwen feels a flicker of hope. She’s heard that tone before – it’s the one that tends to come out when things get dire, but Merlin’s determined not to give up hope. Maybe he’d just been pretending back there to be under whatever weird spell the Green Knight’s cast over everyone, and now he’s going to really sort this all out. As for the green blood licking – well, maybe Merlin’s just a really good pretender.

“Yeah, ‘course you are,” Arthur agrees with him easily. “Because it’s going to be incredible! The stuff of legend.”

“ _Exactly._ ”

They triumphantly bump their fists together.

 _Never mind then,_ Gwen thinks sadly.

“Maybe _everyone_ should come,” Merlin theorizes gleefully. “It’s going to be the greatest thing that’s _ever_ happened, after all. You don’t want just me seeing that. All of Camelot should be there!”

“Good point,” Arthur agrees. “How hard d’you think it would be to take the whole kingdom along with me on a solitary quest?”

“Maybe a bit tricky, but I reckon we’ll be able to puzzle it out.”

“Good. Very good.”

“D’you – d’you think I could help?”

“Merlin.” Arthur stops walking and stares at his (anxiously bouncing) manservant with much gravity. “How. Are you going to _help me_. Get my head chopped off. By a big green knight.”

Merlin gives a nervous laugh and a little shrug. “I dunno, I thought I could hold onto your shoulders. Or pick up your head afterwards, or something. Make sure your hair looks tidy, and you’re not making a weird face or anything like that.”

Arthur is quiet for a very tense moment.

 _Please, please, please snap out of it,_ Gwen thinks, watching him hopefully.

“Sure,” Arthur says then, a big grin breaking out on his face. “It’s a deal.”

“Yes!”

Apparently just slamming their knuckles together isn’t enough to convey their excitement this time – they both jump up and down rather stupidly for a bit, then leap into the air and sort of clumsily … slam their chests together.

“You must be very proud right now,” Morgana says innocently. “Y’know. To have snogged both of them.”

“Oh, very funny.” Gwen rolls her eyes.

(Maybe, secretly, at the moment, she’s a little ashamed.)

+

Confrontation seems like the logical next step. Maybe they can talk, or slap, a little sense into them before it’s too late.

The slapping is Morgana’s idea.

Gwen insists that they ought to at least _try_ talking first.

+

“Arthur, listen to me,” Morgana says. “You’re under some kind of spell. It’s obvious.”

“The only thing that’s _obvious_ , Mor _gana_ , is that you’re jealous.”

“What?” Morgana cries. “Jealous? Can you even _hear_ yourself, Arthur Pendragon? You’re even more mad than usual!”

“Or maybe you’re jealous of _him_ ,” Arthur says smugly, quite lighting up as the idea dawns in his thick skull. “You’ve wanted to chop my head off for years, and now _he_ gets to.”

“I certainly want to chop your head off right now,” Morgana growls. “But we’ve got bigger issues on our hands—”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, Morgana. I like you. I care about you a lot, in fact. You’ve been in my life for ages. You’re – really, you’re like family. You’re even – hey, you’re very pretty. But when it all comes down to it, we just don’t have that _thing_ , you know. I guess you could call it a spark. And just because you mean a lot to me – and that I definitely mean a whooole lot to you – doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re the one who’s meant to chop my head off, you know. And the Green Knight … there was just something about him the first time I saw him. I just _knew_ that if, y’know, I was gonna take that step, then … it had to be with him.” Somewhere in the middle of this insipid excuse for a speech, he’s switched from haughty to … swoony. “Say, Morgana,” Arthur continues, a little sheepishly, “do you think he liked it? When I hacked his head off? I mean, I’ve decapitated loads of monsters before, but he was the first time where I really wanted it to – to _mean_ something, y’know? To be more than just slaughtering. So, do you think I … did okay?” He looks at her, eyes bright and earnest and hopeful.

“AAAAAAAAAAAUGHHHHHHH,” says Morgana.

+

“Your turn,” Morgana says, storming out of the room. “And so help me, Gwen, if you don’t talk some sense into him, I _am_ going to decapitate him. And he’ll be very pouty about it too, since it’s just me, and not somebody _special_ who’s decapitation-deflowering him.”

Gwen blinks. “Deflowering?”

“You’ll see,” Morgana assures her darkly.

“Oh, hurrah,” Gwen says.

+

“It isn’t your destiny to do this, Arthur,” Gwen says gently. (Although really, she’d quite like to snap at him a bit. That starry-eyed look is getting _ridiculous_.) “You’re meant to be a great king someday. Camelot needs you. We can’t lose you now. Not to this stupid quest for honor. Surely – surely in your heart you know that it isn’t meant to end like this.”

And then, because it seems the most effective course of action, she lifts a hand to his cheek. His skin is cool and soft to the touch, welcome and a bit missed (though she shouldn’t admit it), and his eyes soften looking into hers. Oh, thank God. She knew she hadn’t lost him for good.

“Guinevere,” he says, his voice low, his gaze so fixed on her.

“Yes?” She smiles a little.

“I—” He pauses, takes a breath, and she knows that now that they’ve got Arthur on their side, they’ll find some way to fix this. “—want you to be there when it happens.” Gwen stares at him the way one stares at a madman. Because he is one. Oblivious, he brushes his fingers against her face. “I promised Merlin he could be the one to, y’know, straighten my head out and stuff, after it’s not attached to my body anymore, but I’d like you to.”

He starts to lean down nearer to her, his eyes fluttering closed.

Gwen takes a big step backwards, and leaves him to a nice round of kissing with the air.

“Wait,” he says, brow furrowing as he opens his eyes (but not ‘til he’s spent a couple of seconds snogging nothing, which she finds strangely cathartic to witness at the moment). “Weren’t we going to—?”

“No, no,” Gwen says. “I think I need some space. And time. And so I – will talk to you later. Bye.”

“If it was Lancelot,” Arthur says glumly after her, “you’d straighten out _his_ decapitated head.”

+

“I trust you, Merlin,” Morgana says. She makes sure to look as vulnerable and quietly anguished by a life of magical secrecy as possible. She also sticks her chest out a bit more than usual, and lets her breathing become conducive to a little more heaving than strictly necessary. It’s allowed, she reasons, when it’s for the sake of saving the day. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she continues, in solemn and lilting tones, “You’ve kept my secret, and you’ve been a true friend to me. I know you’ll do what’s right.”

“Arthur says,” Merlin replies, beaming, “I can help. When he’s being decapitated. Isn’t that great?”

“AAAAAAARGHHHHHHH.”

+

“I’m getting decapitated by the Green Knight at the end of the week!” Arthur announces proudly to the royal court. “And you’re all invited! As soon as we find out where he is, I’ll send Merlin back, and he’ll bring the whole lot of you along to watch!”

“Huzzah!” cries everybody.

Except the women, who mostly just look rather confused.

+

It’s a bright, clear winter’s morning when Arthur and Merlin set off on their journey to find the Green Knight. They’re just about to climb onto their horses when they’re accosted by Gwen and Morgana.

“You had your chance, Guinevere,” Arthur says coldly. “Merlin’s sorting out my decapitated head now.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” says Merlin.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, it isn’t that, Arthur,” Gwen says, exasperated.

“Then what is it?” Arthur demands.

“We just want you to explain to us why you’re doing this,” Morgana says. “Tell us why, plain and simple.”

“Uh, it’s not like it needs _explaining_.” Arthur and Merlin exchange rather conspiratory ‘ha ha ha, oh, silly simple-minded women’ glances that are very, very annoying. It’s surprisingly easy to feel nostalgic for the days when he was forever ordering his long-suffering manservant to polish his boots.

“Ah, yes, of course,” Morgana says, “because heading off to certain doom for _no reason_ and acting as though it’s the most exciting thing in the world makes absolute sense.”

“Precisely,” Arthur says.

Morgana glares at him. It’s a special kind of glare – one she doesn’t make use of very often, because she understands the power of saving it for these kinds of occasions. Once upon a time, she’d reduced Arthur to tears with the power of this glare alone.

He’d been twelve.

“Fine,” Arthur sighs, masking his nervousness quite well. His horse whinnies anxiously. “It’s because it’s Camelot’s _honor_ at stake here, Morgana. What’s more important than proving the honor of our kingdom?”

“What about going off to be killed says anything about _honor_?”

“Well, you know. It’s fighting. It’s cool.”

“How’s it _fighting_ if you’re just going there to lose?”

“Did you see that axe? Morgana, that’s the _biggest axe I’ve ever seen in my life_. And he’s _green_.”

“And tall,” Merlin contributes helpfully.

“And _tall_!” It’s obvious that, to Arthur, this puts the matter to rest. “Now, get out of the way so we can get a move on.”

Morgana resorts to the glare again. The horse seems most disinclined to budge.

“Arthur,” she says, locking her eyes with his, “you’re under a spell. This is magic at work. This isn’t _you_ acting like this.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Arthur orders.

Morgana lets out a huffy laugh. “ _Me_!”

“Morgana.” Arthur sighs. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but, well – it’s really very simple.”

“Oh, is it?” Morgana demands icily.

“It is,” Arthur says, not cowed in the slightest. “The fact of the matter is … you’re girls. You don’t understand things like dying for honor, and excellent fighting, and really big axes. I know that, in your …” He turns to Merlin, brow scrunched up thoughtfully. “What’s a nice word for puny?”

Merlin ponders for a second. “Dainty?”

“Dainty! Yes, perfect. Thank you, Merlin.” He turns back to Morgana. Who is going to kill him, and if that means Camelot losing its honor, then too ruddy bad for Camelot. “In your _dainty_ lady brain, you can’t quite figure out those sorts of concepts. But it’s all right; you don’t have to. That’s what we’re for. So you just go back inside and embroider something, and Merlin and I’ll set off on our magnificent death-defying adventure.”

The snow within Morgana’s general radius seems in very real danger of melting from hot, unrelenting rage.

“Arthur Pendragon, this had _better_ all be the damned spell talking, because I’m going to—”

“ _Spell_! Seriously, Morgana, what’s all this nonsense about spells? I—”

“Arthur, you’re right.” Gwen’s voice rings out loud and clear through the air of the courtyard, drowning out Arthur and Morgana’s squabbling.

Silence.

Morgana stares at Gwen, her mouth falling open.

After a few seconds, Arthur grins. “Yes! Thank you, Guinevere. Knew you’d understand. Because _she_ , unlike _you_ —” He gestures to Morgana, “—is a lovely, sensible girl.”

“I think it’s very admirable, what you’re doing,” Gwen continues, tone growing sweeter with every word. She begins to gaze up at Arthur with very dotty, unGwenlike adoration. “Brave and bold, and absolutely brilliant for Camelot.”

“Exactly!” Arthur smiles down at her.

“Oh, no, Gwen!” Morgana hurries closer to her friend’s side. “The spell’s got you, too, hasn’t it?”

Gwen ignores her.

“And I know that it’s our place back inside,” she continues demurely, “embroidering things. But, honestly, Morgana and I would like nothing more than to come along with you.” She shoots a quick, pointed glance Morgana’s way.

Morgana’s eyes go very big for a second, and then she nods slowly. “Oh! Yes. Yes, we would.”

The corner of Gwen’s mouth twitches, just a little.

“Well, I don’t know,” Arthur says, quite mightily. “It’s very dangerous business. Not really a place for women.”

“Absolutely,” Morgana agrees, nodding slowly, her voice quite higher than usual. Perhaps even suspiciously so. “And, while I beat you up _numerous_ times when we were children, I’m quite certain that, should disaster befall us, we’d have no means of defending ourselves at all. On account of being so dainty. But—”

“But,” Gwen interjects smoothly, “I do so want to be there to be there to catch your head when it falls, and make certain your hair isn’t mussed. Sire.”

“And then maybe,” Morgana adds, “we can weave a tapestry of the scene afterwards.”

This quite cinches the matter for Arthur. “Merlin, fetch two more horses. The ladies will be joining us.”

And this is how the Lady Morgana, Gwen, and two stupid enchanted idiots begin their quest to find the Green Knight.


	2. Part the Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the thrilling continuation of our tale, Morgana, Gwen, Arthur, and Merlin set off on an epic journey to find the Green Knight, and mostly just find annoyance. Featuring ogres, cloak thievery, and a whole lot of singing.

  
**_~ * PART THE SECOND * ~_ **

There’s nothing quite like feigning excitement over decapitation on a days-long, directionless wintertime journey with a couple of morons.

Well, maybe there are some things that are like it. (Death, misery, profound suffering, and so on.)

“I’m sorry,” Gwen mutters to Morgana, getting about as near to her as one can when on horseback. “But we couldn’t let them go off on their own in this state. They need us here to keep an eye on them. And who knows? Maybe we’ll stumble across some kind of solution.”

“I suppose,” Morgana agrees. She can’t help throwing a rather distasteful look up at the boys. They’re riding quite merrily along. They’re also singing.

Something tells her it’s an original composition.

 _“O hai de dai de dai, he is so big and green!  
His axe is sharp, his horse is grand,  
He’s a swell sight to be seen!_

 _Just because his head comes off  
With lots and lots of blood_

 _(That’s green!)”_ (That bit is provided by Merlin.)

 _“It doesn’t mean you’ve slain him dead  
Or that you ever cud—”_

Morgana can’t take it. “Cud?”

“ _Could_ ,” Arthur explains, turning back and looking at her grumpily. “But, you know, said funny. It’s a near-rhyme,” he adds, with great authority. “It’s completely legitimate.”

“Besides,” Merlin throws in, “Who appointed you the new royal bard, anyway?”

Arthur snickers.

“It’s the spell,” Gwen intones with composure that Morgana is becoming more and more convinced is inimitable. “It’s the spell, it’s the spell—”

“Oh, I’d like to give them a spell right now,” Morgana glowers, fondly recalling the time she exploded that nice vase of flowers with the power of her eyes alone. She’s much less attached to Merlin and Arthur, at the moment, than she was to that vase of flowers, which was picked by Gwen and arranged with great aesthetic skill and attention to detail.

Gwen frowns, confused. “What?”

Damn it.

“Nothing,” Morgana says hastily. Blasted secret powers.

 _“When good Prince Arthur volunteered  
To give his neck a whack_

 _(I did!)”_ (Arthur this time.)

 _“He did it brave and did it true  
But the Knight beat that attack_

 _For he is big and he is green  
And he is glorious too  
And if you chop his head right off  
He’ll chop the head off you-oooh-oooooooo-ooooohhhhhhh—”_

“Oh, God,” Morgana moans. “They’re harmonizing.”

“They’re trying,” Gwen corrects her.

Which is a much more accurate summation.

When an ogre comes out from behind a tree and attacks them, it is profoundly and inexpressibly welcome.

+

They slay the ogre, in the end, but not before it’s eaten roughly half of one of the horses.

“Well, that puts us at a disadvantage,” Arthur says, frowning thoughtfully. The four of them stand in the bloodied snow, surveying the three remaining steeds.

The fourth one’s just the back of a steed now – it’s a bit awkward, but Gwen, in a desperate attempt to maintain some optimism, figures that at least they don’t have its dead horse eyes staring at them this way.

So really, everything’s quite lovely.

Quite.

“Guinevere,” Arthur says, “why don’t you ride with me?”

And the thing is, Gwen does like Arthur very much. In fact, most of the time it’s a bit of a torment, how much she likes him, when one considers that nothing can come of it so long as Uther lives, and that quite a lot of the time he’s still a gigantic prat. But she can’t help suspecting that her continued poise is the only thing that’s keeping Morgana from murdering someone who is not an ogre at the moment, and she’s not entirely sure how much longer said poise could be maintained if she was forced to bear very, very close witness to the thirty-seventh verse of Arthur And Merlin’s (Sappy, Sappy Love) Ballad to the Green Knight.

“Oh, I couldn’t, milord,” she says, which is Demure And Ladylikeian for ‘I don’t want to.’

Arthur’s frown this time definitely has a dash or two of pout in it. “Why not?”

“If you’re to protect us, I fear my presence would only encumber you,” she invents, wondering precisely when she got so good at this. “I couldn’t bear it if … if your skills in battle were compromised by my presence. Sire.”

That breathy pause really is starting to become quite handy.

Arthur gives a weary sigh. “All right then. Come on, Morgana.” He pats his legs briskly in what Gwen guesses is supposed to be some kind of ‘get ready to sit on me’ gesture.

“Me?” Morgana asks, making a face. “Why do _I_ have to? I mean—” she amends after a glance at Gwen, “—that I’m a lady as well. Surely I need just as much protecting as Gwen.”

“You just impaled an ogre with a tree branch,” Arthur says shortly. “I don’t think you’re in much danger.”

“But it was a smallish ogre,” Morgana protests, gesturing in its corpse’s direction. “Really. Look at it. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was still a baby. Which brings up another very troubling matter, in fact. I kill baby ogres. That suggests terrible underlying darkness, don’t you think? It’s probably dangerous to be that close to me—”

“Morganaaaa.”

“I think it would be most practical if Merlin did it,” Morgana says bluntly.

Arthur and Merlin throw panicked looks at each other. It seems a bit rich that they’re suddenly deciding to turn macho about things now.

“Merlin?” Arthur spits. “For God’s sake, _why_?”

“Thanks for that,” Merlin mutters.

“Shut up, Merlin. This is for your own good.”

“He’s just as thin as I am,” Morgana says practically. “Probably skinnier. So really, it would be the wisest solution to—”

“Morgana. That is not. Going to happen. Ever.”

“Oh, as if it’d be so awful,” Morgana says, and can’t resist a slight eye-roll. “The two of you are already the best of pals, making up your little duets—”

“Hey! _Those_ are manly, courageous fight songs! We’re going into battle!”

“ _His shield is so shiny and pretty, the plume on his helmet so fair, the fact that it’s not mine’s a pity, for how splendid it’d be to wear—_ ”

Arthur scoffs. Rather too scoffily. “We didn’t say _pretty_! We said … ferocious.”

“I don’t know,” Morgana said. “The last time I checked, ferocious didn’t rhyme with _pity_ —”

“ROYAL BARD,” Merlin coughs.

Morgana looks like she might punch him, which seems especially unfair given the recent mention of their slight size discrepancy.

“All right,” Gwen says briskly. “I think it’s time for us to continue on, don’t you? After all, the Knight’s probably waiting for you.”

“D’you think so?” Arthur asks, immediately turning anxious.

“Oh, yes,” Gwen says with a big, slow nod. “So we should probably just – sort out the little horse problem, and get a move on—”

“GYAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

The shriek comes out of nowhere, or maybe everywhere. It echoes through the (seemingly) empty woodlands, loud and dissonant, sort of growly and screechy all at once.

“That was weird,” Arthur says, his brow furrowing.

The horses fidget nervously. This seems like a wise course of action, at the moment, so the humans do too.

“Maybe it was some sort of … of squirrel, or something—” Morgana is just beginning to theorize, when—

“GGGGGGGGYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH

HHHHH!”

And with that second, louder, growlier, screechier cry, something falls out of one of the trees with a thud.

It’s a man.

A very withered, very old-looking man. He gets up only to prove that he’s quite hunched over, and short enough that he barely reaches Gwen’s shoulder. He’s so skinny that he makes Merlin look downright portly. He’s dressed in nothing besides an odd assortment of old animal skins, stitched crudely together. Gwen feels a flicker of pity.

This flicker is quickly extinguished when the man sets his eyes on Arthur, takes a deep breath, lets out the most bone-chilling “GYEEEAHHHHHHH!” yet, and runs head-on into him.

“I think,” Merlin says, “we’re being attacked again.”

“Nerughfhfhffff!” says Arthur from the ground.

+

In the end, they don’t have to kill the screechy wild man, which is a plus. He gnaws on Arthur’s ankle for a little while and tries to eat Morgana’s hair, but eventually, they’re able to reason with him enough that he settles for the horses and Morgana’s very pretty purple cloak in exchange for their lives.

“What in the world is he going to do with _three_ horses?” Arthur demands as they watch him and the horses disappear into the distance.

“Looks more like three and a half,” Merlin points out.

Turns out, upon further inspection, the wild man is in fact dragging along the ogre-eaten half-horse by one of its hooves with a level of ease that should probably be worrying.

So indeed it does.

“Huh,” says Arthur.

“What are we going to do now?” Morgana snaps. She’s begun to shiver; Gwen wraps her arms around her. It seems a bit futile, but it’s worth a shot, and she’s quite sure that Morgana wouldn’t react too kindly to one of the boys cozying up to her right now. “We have no idea where our destination is, we’re in the middle of nowhere getting attacked over and over, and now I’m set to freeze to death.”

“We should have killed him instead of giving up the horses,” Arthur says. “A journey like this is impossible on foot.”

Arthur casts a significant glance Gwen’s way.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gwen says, allowing herself to get the slightest bit prickly. “I was under the impression you wanted him to stop eating your leg.”

“I had it under control,” Arthur says.

(He hadn’t.)

“Maybe,” Arthur speculates pensively, “one of us could ride Merlin.”

“What?” Merlin sputters.

“You _are_ my servant,” Arthur says, in his most spoiled princely of tones. “As such, I’d say it’s my right to ride you when the occasion calls for it.”

Oh, dear.

Morgana lets out an insuppressible bark of a laugh, which of course sets Gwen giggling.

“What?” Arthur and Merlin demand in unison.

“You two really don’t listen to yourselves talk sometimes, do you?” Morgana says.

Merlin and Arthur frown, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind,” Morgana sighs.

+

Things are beginning to look a bit dire by the time nightfall hits. Wandering about in the dark and the snow without any definitive direction is getting very, very old. Not to mention scary.

Not that Morgana plans to admit that last part to anyone.

Her thoughts are starting to head in a decidedly morbid direction ( _at least at the end of it, the people I care about are at my side. And Arthur, but I suppose that can’t really be helped. It’s a bit of a shame that I never got to say goodbye to Uther. Then again, he did imprison me that one time. And strangle me a bit that other time. And kill Gwen’s father. I’m certainly never forgiving him for that. But he also got me that lovely cloak for my birthday. But then that awful little man did steal it, so I suppose that doesn’t really matter in the long run—_ ) when quite suddenly, there are lights in the distance.

“Are those … are those windows?”

Arthur and Merlin cease their singing, which has taken a quieter (thank God) and more melancholy tone over the last few hours. ( _“I solemnly swore / He could cut off my head / but now Dread Fiend Winter / shall first slay me dead / Oh, to think that he might choose / Some new prince instead…”_ )

“I think they are,” Gwen says breathlessly. “Oh, thank God. Surely they’ll give us shelter for the night.”

“It seems oddly convenient, doesn’t it?” Morgana can’t help saying, much as she wishes she could drive the thought away.

“No doubt,” Gwen agrees, her eyes warm with concern as she looks at Morgana. It’s the only kind of warmth Morgana has at the moment, and she cherishes it. “But milady, we must get you inside. If there are obstacles beyond that, we’ll face them when we need to.”

Morgana squeezes Gwen’s hand.

“A warm fire,” she can’t help but rhapsodize. “A good meal … in fact, I’ll take a bad meal quite happily at this point.”

As they grow nearer to the miraculously convenient castle, the boys’ singing veers back into cheery territory. ( _“Oh, Green Knight, you know that my promise is kept! / This decapitation will oh so sweet be / If I would have missed it then I would have wept / My head on my shoulders has no worth to meee / You’ll chop it off swift, and you’ll chop it off true / And finally Merlin’ll have something to do / He’ll straighten my hair / (I’ll straighten his hair!) / And make sure I’m not making an embarrassing face—”_ ) Fortunately, Morgana’s so enamored by the prospect of shelter that she can’t even bring herself to much care.

When they reach the doors, there is no need to reach for the knocker. They swing open at once, and standing before them is a very tall, very cloaked figure.

“Ahoy, me lads and lassies!” it booms. “And what’re ye doin’ out on this cold winter’s eve? Come in, come in! Sit by me warm fire and defrost yer bones!”

Beyond the rather bewildering (and inconsistent) accent, the voice is strangely familiar.

Not to mention the unusual levels of tallness.

Still, at this point, an invitation to come inside certainly isn’t to be refused. And so the four of them file their way in. The doors slam shut behind them with an ominous boom that Morgana vows to ignore until she’s warmed up and had something to eat.

“I am Arthur, Prince of Camelot,” Arthur is saying meanwhile to their host. “Pray lower your hood, good benefactor, so I might look into the eyes of the man I thank.”

(It really is a convincingly royal display, considering he was thinking up rhymes for ‘lovely and green and glinty’ a half hour ago. Arthur Pendragon, Morgana reflects, is a bit of a wonder after all.)

“Oh,” says their good benefactor, “no thanks.”

Even in his current dunderheaded state, that clearly reeks of suspicion to Arthur. “Why not?”

“Alas, I suffer a very unflattering skin condition. You would not wish to behold something so hideous.” Morgana’s just begun reflecting on the fact that the accent has mysteriously vanished when their host rather awkwardly throws in, “Ay, egads, ye … timorous … beastie …”

“Sure I would,” Arthur says, taking a step forward. “Let’s see, then.”

“We have mead!” exclaims the big tall cloaked fickle accented man.

Hah. As if _that_ feeble distraction could work on anyone.

“Ooh, mead,” Arthur says, going a bit googly-eyed.

 _Oh, for God’s sake, Arthur._ Still, the transition’s so abrupt that Morgana’s mind can’t help shifting to the notion of magic.

“And grog!” the big tall cloaked fickle accented man adds.

“Grog!” Merlin says. “Excellent!”

“And wenches!” their host exclaims, getting into the enthusiastic spirit.

“Wenches!” Arthur and Merlin cry in jovial unison. Then they look back at Morgana and Gwen. Quite guiltily.

“Er,” Arthur says, clearing his throat. “Of course, we have no interest in wenches.”

“No,” Merlin agrees quickly. “None.”

Somehow, even though his face is hidden in folds of black cloth, Morgana knows that their host is arching a knowing eyebrow. “Oh, is that the way of it with ye, laddies?”

“Not like that,” Merlin chokes out.

“Yeah,” Arthur says quickly. “I’m not riding _him_ anywhere.”

A very awkward silence arises.

“You said,” Arthur says at last, his voice rather higher than usual, “you have grog?”

“Aye! I have grog! Follow me, good sirs and ladies!”

And so they do.

Morgana makes sure to linger a few steps behind with Gwen so they can do a bit of private, sensible-people talking.

“That’s the Green Knight under there,” she surmises in a murmur.

“Oh, absolutely,” Gwen agrees.

“And this is obviously the next part of whatever ridiculous test Arthur’s being put through.”

“Definitely.”

“Thought so.”

Gwen glances up at the backs of the boys and the (rather-lousy-at-deception-for-such-a-formidable-creature) Green Knight. “Should we tell them?”

They pause thoughtfully. Up ahead, Arthur and Merlin are regaling the Secret Green Knight rather proudly with the tale of their journey.

“Of course, we could have kept going,” Arthur is saying. “Harsh climes, difficult terrain – none of that’s anything to us. But on account of the ladies there, we had to take it slow. Keep our natural abilities in check.”

“They’re quite dainty,” Merlin adds.

“Exactly,” Arthur says. “Dainty.”

“Let’s hold off a bit,” Morgana decides.


	3. Part the Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gripping conclusion of our tale! In which chilling at The Green Knigh-- er, Lord Bertilak's castle results in awkward man kissing, the random appearances of inconveniently sexy half-sisters, and the poignant lesson that sometimes, decapitation isn't all it's cracked up to be.

**_~ * PART THE THIRD * ~_ **

“… And so at the end of the day,” Arthur concludes excitedly, “ _he’s_ going to give us anything that he’s gotten throughout the day on the hunt, and we’re to do the same for him, only it’s what we’ve gotten lounging about in the castle.”

“Ah,” Morgana says. “Sort of like how the Green Knight wanted someone to strike _him_ a blow, and then he’d do the same for them?”

Arthur scrunches up his face thoughtfully. “I suppose so. Hadn’t thought of it like that.”

Morgana and Gwen both keep a hopeful eye on him. There’s a drawn-out second where maybe, just maybe—

“Really, I think you’re reaching there, Morgana,” Arthur decides. “You can’t just go seeing similarities everywhere. It’s impractical.”

“Impractical,” Merlin agrees.

Morgana rolls her eyes so hard that they threaten to pop out altogether.

“Is she having some kind of fit or something?” Arthur asks, pulling a face.

  
+

  
On the first day, Gwen and Morgana both awake at the distant sound of Arthur shouting.

“WHAT? WHAT ARE _YOU_ DOING HERE?”

“You think Merlin’s tried to climb in bed with him again?” Morgana muses.

“That was one time,” Gwen says, her mouth determinedly straight. “And he was sleepwalking.”

Morgana snorts as they set off down the corridor. When they reach Arthur and Merlin’s bedchamber, it’s to find Arthur in the most knightly and defensive of poses, Merlin standing a few feet behind him with a face full of alarm, and a third figure standing there. A figure in an artfully tattered burgundy gown with golden locks far more fabulous than ought to be allowed.

“Morgause,” Morgana says, her face splitting into a smile.

“Morgana,” Morgause responds, spinning around. Her expression softens. “It pleases me to see you again.”

“And me to see you.”

“I hope you’ve remembered me fondly,” Morgause says, taking a few slow, rather hypnotic steps in Morgana’s direction.

“Very fondly,” Morgana breathes.

Arthur, Merlin, and Gwen stare at them. Morgana and Morgause do not seem to notice.

“Uh,” Arthur finally says. “Right then. _What_ —” He brandishes a pillow at Morgause, “—are _you_ doing here?”

“I happen to be visiting Lord Bertilak as well,” Morgause says calmly. “A funny coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Pfft! You’re telling me. In fact, I’m inclined to suspect it’s not a _coincidence_ —” He jabs the pillow forward, as best as one can jab a pillow; Morgause stares impassively at it, “—at all.”

“No, no,” Morgause says. “It’s just coincidence.”

“Well,” Arthur says, “okay.”

“That’s a relief,” says Merlin.

Gwen lifts her eyebrows. She steers her skeptical look Morgana’s way, expecting it to be met with a matching one; instead, Morgana is staring at Morgause.

“A _hem_ ,” Gwen says pointedly.

“Oh!” Morgana snaps back into action. “You two are bloody idiots.”

“Oh, come off it, Morgana!” Arthur scowls. “Just because you can’t _rhyme_ —”

“My rhyming abilities aren’t the issue here, _Arthur_ ,” Morgana declares furiously. “Although, for the record, they’re perfectly fine—”

“That’s debatable,” Merlin mumbles.

“Don’t you remember that the _last_ time we all saw Morgause, she issued you a challenge, Arthur Pendragon, to _have your head chopped off_??” Morgana demands. “Doesn’t that seem just a slightest bit familiar??”

“Um, _yes_ ,” Arthur says. He throws a glance back at Merlin. After a few seconds, they both start chuckling. “Talk about funny coincidences—”

“You idiots,” Morgana spits. “ _She’s_ behind all of this, can’t you see??” Her expression turns anxious, and she adds to Morgause, in far gentler tones, “No offense.”

“None taken,” Morgause assures her.

“Good,” Morgana says, starting to smile again.

“The point is,” Gwen says hastily, grabbing Morgana’s arm to drag her back a few feet (she had been drifting dangerously Morgauseward), “if a known enemy of Camelot is behind the Green Knight’s challenge, then maybe it’d be wise if the two of you stopped to question what it really is you’re doing here.”

“What does any of this have to do with the Green Knight?” Arthur says, brow furrowing.

Gwen decides to change tactics. She turns to Morgause. “What were you even doing in here in the first place?”

“She was _kissing_ us,” Arthur nearly gags.

“It is a custom under Lord Bertilak’s roof,” Morgause responds evenly, “that’s all.”

“To sneak into random peoples’ rooms and _kiss them awake_??” Arthur demands.

Morgause nods. “No one’s ever complained before.” She eyes Arthur and Merlin curiously.

“What?” Arthur says suspiciously. Then awareness dawns. He groans, “Oh, good God!”

“I was sleeping on the floor,” Merlin says quickly.

“He was _sleeping_ on the _floor_ ,” Arthur repeats, pointing helpfully and forcefully at the floor.

“Er, Arthur,” Merlin pipes up meanwhile, “do you think that Lord Bertilak meant we had to give him, um, _everything_ we’d gotten during the day?”

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur says impatiently. “Everything. Absolutely everything. He made it very clear, didn’t he? Honestly, sometimes you’re so thick I think you might—” His eyes widen. “Ah.”

“Yep,” Merlin says sadly.

Gwen, Morgana, and Morgause call a temporary truce between good and evil in order to exchange some rather amused glances.

+

It is a jolly good time watching Merlin and Arthur each press an awkward kiss to the Green Knight’s cheek.

“Say, mate,” Arthur says as he pulls away, “you’re looking rather green.”

“Stomach bug,” the Green Knight says.

“Damn it,” Arthur mutters, “I hope I don’t catch anything. I need to be in good health to go find the Green Knight so he can decapitate me.”

“Here!” the Green Knight continues. “As promiséd, dear friends, I present: what I have gotten on this day!”

He slams a deer carcass onto the table.

Blood drips onto the floor. Arthur and Merlin grimace.

“Feast your eyes on _that_!” the Green Knight says, pleased.

Arthur frowns. “What happened to your accent?”

“Whaddye mean? It’s – still – herrrrrrre.” It’s not still there, even though it tries very hard to be.

“Oh, okay, “Arthur says. “Good. Otherwise, Morgana probably would’ve had more stupid ideas about you being the Green Knight.”

Morgana, meanwhile, is sitting with her chin in one hand gazing rather raptly at Morgause on the opposite end of the banquet table. Morgause is in the process of eating a turkey leg far more seductively than necessary – or, indeed, far more seductively than anyone would have thought humanly possible.

“Morgana,” Gwen says sternly, “she’s your _sister._ ”

“Well, yes,” Morgana says, tearing her gaze away, “but she’s my _half_ -sister. You have your sisters, and then your stepsisters, and then your half-sist—” At the shake of Gwen’s head, she trails off dejectedly. “That’s not right, is it?”

“It’s – not – right,” Gwen verifies, slowly and emphatically.

Morgana sighs.

Morgause tosses her hair and tears off another mouthful of turkey flesh.

+

On the second day, Morgana and Gwen wake to yet more of Arthur’s shouting. This time it’s a bit more like screeching.

“Merlin! That way! That way! Don’t let her get you. Feint to the right! No, the right! No, your _other_ right, you great stupid ass! _FEINT_ with an E, not _FAINT_. I – aughhh, she got me! I don’t – want to – kiss you – no – really – I find your determination to destroy my kingdom _very unattractive_ —”

“At this point,” Gwen says, “I can’t help suspecting she’s just mocking them.”

“I know,” Morgana says, grinning rather wickedly. “It’s great, isn’t it?”

“No,” Gwen says, but the corner of her mouth twitches a little.

  
+

  
On the second evening at supper, Merlin and Arthur are given a gigantic boar carcass.

“What are we supposed to _do_ with it?” Merlin mutters out of the side of his mouth to Arthur.

“ _Eat_ it, you great idiot.”

“I don’t want to eat that,” Merlin says weakly. “It’s staring at us.”

“Yeah, well, _I_ don’t want to snog Lord Bertilak. Sometimes, Merlin, you have to look beyond what you want and just do what the situation commands. It’s called manners.”

“Didn’t Morgause stick her tongue in your ear a bit?” Merlin says innocently. “D’you think that means you have to stick your tongue in Lord Bertilak’s ear? Manners, right?”

“I hate you, Merlin,” Arthur says.

“Just saying,” Merlin says.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Gwen whispers to Morgana. “We need to get out of here.”

But Morgause is licking gravy off her fingers. As such, Morgana is rather useless.

+

On the third morning, Gwen and Morgana stop by to find that Morgause has changed her tactic slightly.

“A green girdle of immortality?” Arthur snorts disdainfully at the item of clothing in Morgause’s hand. “Blokes don’t wear girdles. And even if they did, I wouldn’t need to. Have you seen my abs? Merlin, lift up my shirt.”

Merlin hastens over.

“Oh, forget it,” Morgause mutters, and leaves.

“D’you still want me to—?” Merlin begins to ask. Arthur shoves him away.

  
+

  
“Well,” Arthur says later that day, “it’s been quite splendid, Lord Bertilak, but I’m afraid we’ve got to be pressing on. Green Knights to find and all.”

“Of course,” the Green Knight says, waving a green hand at them, catching himself, and hurrying to hide it in the folds of his cloak. “Be gone with ye, merry travelers!”

They leave. Morgause watches them from a tower window. It’s hard to decide whether her expression is more Evil Mastermind Gazing Triumphantly At Things Going Exactly To Plan or Tormented Lover Gazing Woefully Upon Their Departing Beloved. Not that the latter description is at all relevant to her dynamic with any of the persons currently leaving.

Morgana waves eagerly. Gwen finally tugs her hand down, rolling her eyes.

They make it approximately twenty feet when the Green Knight steps out from behind a tree, rather winded. He brandishes his axe.

“Green Knight!” Arthur says. “Who knew we’d come across you so soon!”

“Why, it’s almost as if you ran right out of the castle!” Morgana exclaims with false wonder.

“Almost,” Arthur agrees. “Not quite, though.”

“Arthur, it is I!” the Green Knight booms. “Lord Bertilak!!!!”

“Here now, are you sure?” Arthur says, frowning.

“Ay, ye timorous beastie!” says the Green Knight in a highly inconsistent, still inexplicable Scottish brogue.

“OH MY GOD,” say Arthur and Merlin.

  
+

  
The Green Knight/Lord Bertilak takes the four of them on a fifteen minute walk to a rather creepy moor filled with headstones and one conveniently placed chopping block. Because Arthur asks politely, the Knight grants him ten minutes to get himself in order before the chop-chopping commences.

“Arthur,” Gwen says, quite convinced that this has gone on long enough, “I don’t want you to get decapitated.”

Arthur squints at her as if she’s someone he remembers from a dream. “Why?”

“You’re meant to be a great king someday,” Gwen says, laying a hand on his arm. “And if there’s one thing great kings tend to have in common, it’s having a head.”

“My father’s got a head,” Arthur says darkly. “Has that made him a great king?”

“You are not your father,” Gwen says firmly.

He stares into her eyes. For the first time in so long, she feels as if she can recognize him all the way, and as if he can truly see her.

“We won’t bring the whole kingdom to watch it,” Arthur says at last. “This is my fight. It is no longer about glory. I was foolish to let it be in the first place.”

“It was _never_ about glory,” Gwen protests, anger setting in. “It was about pigheadedness, and now that you’ve let go of that, what point is there??”

“I made a promise, Guinevere. A good king keeps his promises.”

“You are not a king yet,” Gwen reminds him, “and if you carry on like this, you never will be.”

Arthur looks at her for a long time. He looks so noble; good, and almost wise. “You would have made a good queen, Guinevere.”

She cannot decide whether she wants to kiss or to kill him more. At last, she figures that the Green Knight has the latter option covered; she may as well take the former.

+

“They’re very cute, aren’t they?” Morgana reflects, watching Arthur and Gwen embrace in the distance.

“Quite cute, yeah, I suppose,” Merlin says.

Arthur and Gwen keep kissing. It’s a bit awkward.

Morgana turns to look at Merlin instead. “Do you feel a little left out?”

“A little,” Merlin admits.

“Me too.”

“I’ve gotten a bit used to it,” Merlin says after awhile. “Being on the outside of things.”

“What do you mean?” Morgana asks. “Arthur’s got you trailing after him every second of the day. Surely you mustn’t even have the chance to feel apart from him.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, and laughs a little. “There’s just … things I’d like to be able to – I feel as if – as if no one knows me all the way, you know? It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Morgana says. “Or if it is, then I’m stupid too.”

Merlin grins. It’s a little shaky, but warm and welcome as sunshine under the circumstance. “You’re many things, Morgana, but stupid isn’t one of them.”

She smiles back. “Thank you.”

She squeezes his hand briefly. In the short time that their hands touch, she feels a peculiar, pleasant jolt. She blames the cold, the fear. She doesn’t know what else it could be. Still, something about the way Merlin looks at her, just for a moment, makes her suspect she wasn’t the only one who felt it.

He turns his gaze to Arthur, watching him pull away from Gwen. “I know he has to have his head chopped off, because it’ll be the greatest thing that’s ever happened to Camelot or either of us, but … there’s a part of me that wishes there was a way out of it. I feel like a bit of a lousy servant, to be honest.”

“Merlin,” Morgana says very firmly, “hold onto that feeling.”

  
+

  
Arthur kneels at the chopping block. The axe is about to fall.

Morgana looks at Gwen. Her face, her whole body seems ready to crumple with sorrow. She is crying silently. No moment in Morgana’s life has ever been more terrible than this one.

“Arthur,” Gwen says, and her voice is strong in spite of her weeping. “Please. Live for me.”

Then, several things happen at once: Arthur jerks backward a foot or so away from the chopping block; Merlin (rather inexplicably) holds out his hand, his fingers stretched wide, and for some reason the movement seems purposeful, almost frightening, rather than ridiculous; Morgana feels a flash of bright, desperate, determined feeling so strong she thinks it will burn her up; “Your eyes,” Gwen says, but Morgana cannot tell who the words are meant for; and the axe in the Green Knight’s hand turns into a bouquet of flowers.

For a moment, there is perfect silence.

“Really??” the Green Knight says grumpily then. “I wasn’t going to _do_ it.”

Arthur is still on his knees. He looks up, glaring furiously. “What??”

“I wasn’t!” the Green Knight insists. “I merely wanted, young Pendragon, to teach you a lesson or two about the nature of honor and chivalry and ludicrously bold displays of masculinity.”

“By _chopping off my head_?” Arthur fumes.

The Green Knight looks rather sheepish. “Well,” he says, “I suspect it’s one of those things that will make much more sense once the historians have copied it down and it’s had a few hundred years to, you know. Marinate.”

Arthur is having none of it.

“Morgause had me do it!” the Green Knight declares. He’s starting to sound quite whiny. “And for your information, _she_ thinks Camelot is in a rather bad state indeed. Full of big stupid men making hideous, violent decisions when, really, that’s not going to solve any problems at all. Just create a few … _hundred_!”

“Oh yeah?? Well, at least our big stupid men aren’t _green_!!” Arthur thunders.

This appears to be too much for the Green Knight. He throws the bouquet of flowers down, spins around, and strides off.

“I suspect he’s rather sensitive about that,” Gwen says sagely. She’s on the ground beside Arthur, running one hand through his hair like she’s checking for axe-marks.

Arthur smiles a bit dreamily at Gwen. Morgana’s not sure how much of that can be blamed on the magic wearing off.

“You’re always telling me to live for you,” he points out.

“And you always do it,” Gwen retorts, smiling.

Morgana glances at Merlin. He’s staring down at his fingers with a look of befuddlement, as if he can’t quite tell what he’s just done. She supposes he must be waking up from the spell. Then he shrugs, and goes over to help Arthur up.

  
+

  
“I wish you weren’t so hell-bent on the destruction of Camelot,” Morgana says wistfully, her hands clasped with Morgause’s. In a sisterly fashion.

“I wish you weren’t so attached to it,” Morgause responds. “It really is a very corrupt kingdom.”

“I know,” Morgana says. She throws a glance back at Gwen, Arthur, and Merlin. “But I can’t bring myself to give up on it just yet.”

“If that day ever comes …”

“You are the first person I’ll seek,” Morgana promises.

Morgause presses a hand to Morgana’s cheek. “I wish you happiness. And all the pleasant dreams in the world.”

“Thank you,” Morgana murmurs.

They gaze at one another, sisterishly. At last, Morgana slowly disentangles her hands from Morgause’s and turns back to return to her friends.

They all stare at her.

“What?” Morgana demands. “She’s my _sister._ ”

Arthur snorts. “Sisters?”

“We’re close,” Morgana grumbles.

  
+

  
The journey back is just as long, but the Green Knight (who’s feeling rather chastened) provides them with horses, so it’s far less painful. For the humans, anyway.

“It’s very quiet,” Morgana says after an hour’s riding.

“You know, Morgana, I was just thinking that,” Gwen replies innocently.

“I suppose,” Merlin begins, “we could tal—”

Morgana begins to sing. Evilly. “ _Oh, Arthur wanted his head chopped off / And Merlin wanted it too!_ ”

“ _Every man in Camelot had gone quite mad / It’s true,_ ” Gwen pitches in.

“Gwen,” Arthur says, anguished, “really??”

“ _But we won’t make much fun of them, for this song is for you-u-u—_ ”

“We’re sorry!” Arthur exclaims. “We’re sorry, all right?? It was a _spell_. Of course we don’t really think you’re dainty and all of that rot. Morgana, you’ve been able to beat me up since we were ten. Gwen, you’ve got more sense in your pinky than the two of us have got combined in our whole lousy, man-shaped bodies. Now will you please _stop singing_??”

“Please,” Merlin adds.

“That’s more like it,” Morgana says.

They keep singing anyway.

  
+

  
At last, they return to Camelot.

“Sorcery of the foulest kind,” Uther professes, wrapping Arthur in a hug. “Thank God you freed us all from that foul enchantment. Had I been in my right mind, I never would have doubted you could.”

“It was Morgana, Father,” Arthur says. “Morgana and Guinevere.”

For a moment, Uther looks baffled. Then his expression turns quite proud.

“Morgana,” he says, smiling, “What would we do without you?”

Underneath fifty-seven layers of resentment and loathing, Morgana feels a twinge of fondness. “Let’s hope we’ll never find out, my lord.”

“Indeed,” Uther says, embracing her. “Let’s hope.”

“And Guinevere,” the king continues, once he and Morgana have parted, “you have proven yourself to be the most loyal and remarkable of servants. Perhaps the finest in all of Camelot.”

Arthur grins proudly while Gwen curtseys.

“Gee,” Merlin mutters. “Thanks.”

  
+

  
While Merlin and Gaius sit down to a bowl of lumpy, flavorless stew and share a heartwarming conversation about the obstacle Camelot has just overcome (as they are in the habit of doing every time Camelot overcomes an obstacle), Morgana retires to her bedchamber with Gwen behind her. She changes into her nightdress, then waits while Gwen pulls the covers back and fluffs the pillows.

“ _That_ was a lovely string of days, wasn’t it?” Morgana deadpans as she climbs into bed.

“Oh yes,” Gwen agrees wanly. “Lovely.”

“One straight week of Arthur being an idiot. Why, it’s a wonder any of us survived it.”

“He is a bit of an idiot,” Gwen agrees. She does not say the second bit (which Morgana suspects goes something along the lines of _but I do love him anyway_ ). She doesn’t need to. The feeling alone warms her words.

“Yes,” Morgana says with a merciful little smile. “But a good idiot. An idiot with qualities.”

“He does have a few,” Gwen says fondly.

She will make a good queen, Morgana thinks. Even Morgause will have no quarrel with Camelot then.

The thought makes tears well up in her eyes for a very silly second. Morgana blinks them back and says, “I’m positively exhausted.”

“I’m rather tired myself, milady.”

“I suppose you ought to get home then.”

“Yes,” Gwen says, “I suppose I shall. Goodnight, Morgana.”

“Goodnight, Gwen.”

She’s three steps from the door when Morgana relents. There are some nights when you want nothing more than your best friend by your side, and this night is one of them.

“Gwen,” Morgana says, her voice going a little higher with hope, “stay awhile?”

Gwen smiles, and comes back to sink down on the bed beside her.

THE END

  
\---ALMOST

  
“… And I don’t know what everyone’s always on about anyhow. The only reason I have you come in here at night,” Arthur says, grumpily and shirtlessly, “is because everyone knows boots are polished best by the light of the full moon. And I’m certainly not letting you out of my sight with my best pair.”

“Of course, sire,” Merlin says, glancing up from his moonlit boot-polishing.

“And,” Arthur adds grudgingly after a moment’s pause, “because I suppose it’ll do us both good if I keep you around. You because Lord _knows_ what you’d get up to if you didn’t have me around to keep you busy with proper work, and me because … well, because I’ve gotten used to having a stupid oaf following me around. Wouldn’t want you getting distracted. Going off to work for someone else.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could work for anyone else after you,” Merlin says, his eyes dancing. “Being treated with dignity and respect, after all this time? Nope. Don’t think I could stomach it.”

“Shut up, _Mer_ lin.”

“See?” Merlin says. “How do you come back from that?”

“Not that you’re of much help when it really counts,” Arthur continues pointedly. “I didn’t see _you_ trying to stop me from getting decapitated by a huge green knight. _You_ were positively giddy about it. Singing backup.”

“I think it’s good for me to support your interests.”

“Not when I’m king, it won’t be,” Arthur says firmly. “I need someone who’ll tell me whether what I’m doing is right, not someone who’s – who’s afraid to hurt my _feelings._ ”

“When you’re king,” Merlin repeats, sounding rather moved.

They stare at one another.

“It’s not,” Arthur says at last, “so much that I want you around. Just that I’m not daft enough to think I’ll actually be able to get rid of you.”

“Ah,” Merlin says, “right then.”

“When I’m king …” Arthur muses. Then he groans. “God. I nearly wasn’t king. I nearly gave my _head._ ”

“I’m sure,” Merlin says, “you would’ve given the best head in all of Albion.”

It goes very quiet.

For a very …

… long …

… time.

“Maybe we should start listening to ourselves talk,” Arthur says, his eyes huge.

“Yep,” Merlin agrees quickly.

They don’t talk much for the remainder of the night. Just to be safe, Arthur puts on a shirt. Sometimes you can’t be too careful.

  
THE REAL END


End file.
